


M. Crieff

by Basingstoke



Series: Unfinished WIP clearinghouse [6]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - BDSM, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 03:26:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/961030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Basingstoke/pseuds/Basingstoke





	M. Crieff

Douglas looks his new Captain over. (Captain! Douglas was Captain when this boy's voice was cracking. He was flying when this boy was pulling subs' plaits in the schoolyard--hang on.)

Douglas extends his hand. "Miss Crieff, isn't it? Charmed."

"Yes, Martin Crieff--" He stops and straightens, crushing Douglas's hand in his. "And that's CAPTAIN. Not Miss!"

"Yes, we're all for sub's rights here."

"The very fact you need to say that shows how far you have to go," Martin says acidly.

"Just clarifying, since the tie and short hair does obscure your gender slightly," Douglas replies.

"And if it does? What does it matter? Gender matters in the bedroom, not the cockpit!"

"Quite," Douglas says.

"I'm equally as good as any dom!"

"Any dom?"

"I'm good enough to be Captain," Martin says, lifting his chin relentlessly.

"Yes, how did you manage that? Given that you're closer in age to my daughter than myself..."

"Skill and promise!"

"Quite." Douglas looks around. "Where is Carolyn, anyway? I'll winkle the truth out of her."

"Mr. Knapp-Shappey--"

"Mrs," Douglas corrects.

"--is back in--Mrs? Really?"

"The long hair and pearl earrings weren't enough?"

"But she--well--see, it doesn't matter! Gender belongs in the--"

"That's enough talk of bedrooms for one day, if you don't mind."

Martin blushes. He does that very prettily, Douglas thinks, despite the tie. The tie and those blasted Captain's stripes.

*

"He's cheap," Carolyn says. "I don't have to give you a raise, because you're not getting a promotion, and I'm saving a bundle on young M. Crieff. So, as the youngsters say, suck it up, Douglas."

Douglas narrows his eyes. "I see."

"And if he goes, you go," Carolyn says abruptly. "I'll know who to blame."

"Carolyn! I can't be held responsible for a fickle young--"

"Mind your next word very carefully."

"--man."

"You can be if I say you are. Starting now."

"He's relentlessly unsubjugated. Won't that get tiring?" Douglas asks. The unsubjugation movement, sub's rights, dress reform, all that, they achieved their goals decades ago; subs have credit cards and the right to divorce and the deference laws are ancient history. Still banging on about equality after it's been reached is just beating a dead horse as far as Douglas is concerned. What's left over is the natural human dynamic.

"Does me good to see a sub in a tie. Now shoo. You're putting me off my tea." She waves her hand at him. Douglas retreats from her office.

She absolutely will fire him if Martin washes out. He has no doubt of that. She had that devilish look in her eye, the one that means she has the world by the testicles and is looking for an excuse to squeeze.

*

They're over the Atlantic, about thirty minutes into the flight, when Douglas gets bored. "So," he says. "Tired of looking at the sea yet?"

"No," Martin says, and there's real awe in his voice. It would be touching if Douglas weren't a cynical old jade.

"Really? Didn't see the ocean on your last job?"

"My last job--no. Hardly ever."

"Tricky, on an island nation."

"Well, I didn't."

Arthur bursts in. "Coffee! How do you take it, Nigel? I mean Martin?"

"Arthur, how on earth do you confuse Nigel and Martin? Nigel was seven inches taller, five stone heavier, Italian in origin, and a dom."

"But he was Captain, and now Martin is Captain, and I get muddled!"

Martin is looking rather white around the eye. Damn; mustn't frighten this one. "Maybe if you called him something else?" Douglas offers. "To help you remember?"

"Brilliant!"

"But I am Captain!"

"Maybe Chief, or Skipper?"

"Oh, Skipper! Like Gilligan's Island!"

"No!" Martin cries.

"How do you like your coffee, Skipper?"

"I don't--" But Martin sighs. "Black, no sugar."

"Coming right up!"

Arthur leaves. Martin looks at Douglas. "Does he come on every flight?"

"Oh yes. He loves it. Wouldn't miss a trip."

"And he's...harmless?"

"Quite. He is a dom, but he wouldn't even know where to start sexually harassing you, so nothing to worry about there."

"I wasn't worried about that." Martin's eyes flicker; Douglas bets the unspoken words are "I'm more worried about you."

"Here we are! Coffee for Douglas and coffee for Skip! It's great because Douglas likes double sugar and double cream so now it's even!"

Martin smiles. "Thank you," he says.

*

Birlingday fell not long after Martin joined them. Douglas looks forward to the meeting of Martin and Mr. Birling with unalloyed joy.

"Captain! Captain! Captainess, more like," Mr. Birling roars.

"Just Captain will do," Martin says through clenched teeth.

"And take that tie off! Nothing more revolting than a bottom in a tie. Like cats with shoes on."

"I'm afraid my uniform is set by the airline," Martin says, teeth clenched harder.

"What happened to standards, Douglas? There was a time when a top was a top and a bottom was a bottom. Appalling."

"I'm afraid time does tend to carry on," Douglas says. Behind him, Martin stares out the window, fists clenched on his thighs.

"He's a horrible old relic," Martin snaps in the safety of the flight deck. "What on earth do you look forward to?"

"The massive tips," Arthur says.

The colour drains out of Martin's face as he finds out exactly how massive. He rubs his thumb over his knuckles two, three, four times as Arthur goes back to feed the old man more Talisker, then slowly removes his tie.

"I see," Douglas says.

"Shut up. Hand me my carry-on from the locker."

"Your handbag?" But Douglas hands him to him, then watches in amazement as Martin fishes an ancient lipstick out of the bottom. "Goodness."

"Shut up. Shut absolutely up. I can't afford to--" Martin rubs the lipstick over his lower lip, then smacks his lips together. "Can't afford pride, so shut up. I mean it." He opens the first two buttons of his shirt, then checks himself in a cracked hand mirror.

"Aye, Captain," Douglas says, watching Martin in amazement. The lipstick does wonders for his mouth.

"Here he comes. I'm going in. And shut up." Martin stands.

Douglas shuts up.

Arthur comes in later. "Martin's sitting on Mr. Birling's lap," he reports. "It's weird."

Douglas raises his eyebrows. " _On_ his lap, or near his lap?"

"Sort of on his knee, with his arm on the back of his seat. And Mr. Birling is wearing his hat."

"Good God."

"I didn't think Martin liked him that much."

"He doesn't," Douglas murmurs.

Martin returns before too long, hatless. "Shut up. I have control," Martin says. He takes the wheel.

"Yes, all right, you have control," Douglas says, looking him over. There are bills stuffed in his shirt. "How much did you make?"

"Rent for a year. Worth it. Just." Martin scrubs at his mouth with the heel of his hand.

"He didn't--" Douglas stops as Martin glares at him sharply. "Shall I check the weather?"

"Please."

Sitting on his knee, with his shirt stuffed with bills. Martin's pride must be in tatters. Douglas, much to his own surprise, hates to see it.

And then, of course, it turns out Martin is the only one to make any money off Mr. Birling as they deposit him on his sofa, drunk as a skunk. Martin glances at Douglas under his eyelashes as they return to the car. "I should split it with you," he says.

"No."

"No? You're turning down money? Even after he drank all the Scotch?"

"You earned it," Douglas says.

"Yes, I bloody did." He looks at Douglas for a long time. "Yes. All right."

"And put your tie back on, for heaven's sake. You look a mess."

Martin smiles and takes his tie out of his pocket.

*

Douglas takes Helena to dinner after work and, of course, their server is Martin. Helena leaves to powder her nose. Douglas looks Martin up and down, but before he can say anything, Martin comments "You're wearing captain's stripes," as he refills Douglas's water glass.

"Am I?" he glances at his shoulders casually. "Goodness. I must have put on the wrong shirt."

"You weren't this morning. I would have noticed. You changed into captain's stripes."

Douglas raised an eyebrow. "And if you want a good tip--"

"How much do you suppose Carolyn would pay me for the story?" Martin muses, and he whisks himself off with an effortless waiter's stride.

Helena returns and curls up on the low bench beside Douglas's chair. "What are we having, Captain Richardson?" she asks. She rests her hand and her chin on Douglas's thigh.

It's a very long meal, all the longer when Martin kneels beside him with the dessert tray, his head bowed in perfect subservience. Damn the man. Douglas tips him normally and resolves to have it out tomorrow.

Martin always arrives with Carolyn and Arthur because he doesn't have a car. Douglas comes in late, of course, because they're not flying until noon and why not sleep in? "Good, ah, good morning," Martin says.

"Morning, certainly." Douglas sits in the chair opposite him and looks at him evenly. "Tell me. Why is an airline captain moonlighting at the India Garden?"

"Why is a first officer making his wife think he's the captain?"

"I think my question is rather more pointed."

"But mine is a bit weird, don't you think? Unless a first officer can't handle his wife knowing he's not quite the top she thinks he is--"

Douglas slams down his hand and Martin jumps, but then straightens up and lifts his chin. "Is that a threat or a flirt? I already have the paperwork filled out for a sexual harassment charge," he says, voice wobbling barely at all. He clears his throat and grips his pen between both hands.

Douglas looks away. He reins himself in with a deep breath. He's Douglas Richardson, for heaven's sake, he's not going to be pushed around by a mouthy little bottom. "No, Martin," he says. "Your swan-like neck remains free of temptation for me. Helena wears my collar beautifully. And," as he turns back, "we have sexual harassment paperwork? Really?"

"Well, no. But I could work some up, I'm sure." Martin's mouth quirks slightly as he looks down at his log book.

Carolyn enters. Douglas is convinced she watches them to pick her moment. "Up! Up, my minions! Up into the sky, we fly, we fly!" Arthur beams beside her.

Then Arthur gives Martin a handful of violets wrapped in the plastic from an Aero bar. "Here, I picked these for you!"

Martin blanches, then smiles, sickly. "Thank you!" he says.

*

The violets sit between them like a bomb. Martin shoots looks at them constantly, fidgeting in his seat. "He can't really," Martin bursts out, eventually. "Can he? He can't. God, what do I say?"

"It rather depends on whether you want to date him, doesn't it?" Douglas asks.

"Oh for heaven's sake! I'm a single sub over thirty, but that doesn't mean I'm _desperate_."

"He's not as bad as that. Tall."

Martin sighs. "You know, I did consider it when I first saw him. He's exactly my type, you know, male, tall, dark hair, broad shoulders. And then I got to know him. It would be like courting a Labrador puppy or, or, or a unicorn. Just wrong."

"Male, really? I would have thought female." Some considered male doms to be more dominant than female doms. One of those old-fashioned prejudices.

"It's just a preference. Don't read anything into it." Martin toys with the violets. "I don't want to break his heart, either. Back to, you know, Labrador puppies and unicorns."

"But you can hardly--" Douglas breaks off as the flight deck door opens and Carolyn storms in.

"Martin," she says. "Once, when Arthur was five years old, someone told him he was a darling boy for bringing her flowers, and since that time, he has an unshakable obsession with picking flowers for every sub in sight. Nothing more than that."

"Yes, of course," Martin says.

Carolyn takes him firmly by the jaw and Douglas hears Martin inhale sharply. " _Nothing_ more than that, are we clear?"

"Yes, Mistress," Martin says breathily.

"Good. I'll put these in water." Carolyn snatches the violets off the tray and departs.

Martin sits very still, chin still tipped up, lips parted. Rather... sexy. Douglas frowns. "Martin," he says.

"Yes, Master?"

"Did Carolyn just put you into subspace?"

"Hmm?" It's a soft, low croon. Douglas reaches over and snaps his fingers beside Martin's ear. Martin blinks and straightens up. He flushes, shivering his shoulders.

"Perhaps it's not the son you should be flirting with."

"Shut up," Martin snaps. He straightens his tie.

*

They fly a dozen City doms to Las Vegas for a poker weekend. Douglas deposits his suitcase in his room and slopes off to Martin's, as usual; Carolyn has taken to bunking him and Arthur together, but Martin always gets a room to himself for decorum. Given the choice of company, Douglas prefers Martin, and he certainly prefers Martin's king-sized bed, which he sprawls across.

Martin is sitting at the desk, polishing the gold braid on his hat. "I suppose you're master of poker as well?" Martin asks.

"Of course. Bad form to win all the cash off the punters, though. Care to take in a topless revue?"

"Douglas!"

"One thousand pardons. I forgot subs are only supposed to enjoy their _master's_ jubblies." Douglas smirks down at his handful of fliers. "Drinks in low company, at least?"

"You don't drink," Martin says.

Douglas looks up sharply. "Who told you that?"

"You told me that. One glass of Maharaja beer, and you didn't drink it, you passed it down to your wife. And then when Carolyn bought us wine and pizza after that mess with the show dogs and the squirrel, you poured a glass but didn't drink it, and you swapped it with mine when mine was empty--look, I notice when a top messes with my glass," Martin says. "And you're really toppy--not that I think you might drug me--but it does put me more on alert, and--anyway, I know you don't drink. You can buy me a drink, though. I mean, I don't think you're going to drug me. Oh god, that wasn't a come-on, I promise! I know you're married." Martin takes a deep breath, looking away from Douglas on the bed. A blush stains across his cheeks and creeps up his nose.

"Can't imagine why you're single," Douglas says.

"Shut up. And breasts are lovely, but it's weird looking at them in public. What if you get..." Martin gestures vaguely.

"What if you get what?" Douglas knows what he means, but would dearly love to hear him say it.

"If you--no, never mind. We should just have a walk around. We can look at all the casinos and things for free."

"What about your Birlingday windfall? It can't be gone already."

"Rent," Martin says. "I paid in advance so I don't have to worry about it."

"Your pragmatism turns my stomach. Come on, I'll buy you something frivolous." Douglas shoves himself upright from the bed. "I don't suppose you have a short skirt in your luggage? I do like a bit of arm candy."

"I haven't shaved my legs for three months," Martin says.

"Good God." He pulls a face. Martin smirks.

*

They end up at a casino bar, something with a purportedly Egyptian theme. Actors dressed as Atia and Cleopatra pose for photographs behind them. Douglas has a virgin Cuba Libre--i.e., a Coke with a twist of lime--and Martin has a very, very slutty vodka and cranberry.

"Flyyy me to the moon, and let me swing among the stars," Martin sings under his breath for the third time at least. He takes another sip and starts over. "Fly me to the moon..." He's not drunk, Douglas thinks, just giddy. He's a cheap date. So to speak.

"So Martin," Douglas asks. "Why do you work at the restaurant?"

"Because they asked. They rang and asked are you available for a shift and I said yes, I was, and then I worked it. Ha! So funny seeing you there, isn't it?"

"Very. Martin, what does Carolyn pay you?" Douglas thinks he has it.

"Five pounds," Martin says.

"Five pound an hour?"

"Five pound a day. I held out. I held out from zero. I have my self-respect."

"I...see."

"I love flying," Martin says wistfully. "I love it so much. There's nothing I would rather do, and I don't mind giving up money and sex and everything. Gerti is better than any top. Much better."

"You've had some frightfully rubbish tops, then."

"Well, yes. But she's still better. My parents said if I had to fly, then be a hostie, get collared by a pilot. And I failed my instrument rating and that proved it, but I kept going. And I'm a pilot now. I'm a captain!"

"Well done you," Douglas says.

"Well. Done. Martin." Martin finishes his drink in one jubilant swallow. "Douglas, I think I'm a bit drunk. Is Atia looking at me? She's notorious for her appetite for subs."

"She only has eyes for Cleopatra." Actually, Douglas was reasonably certain the actors were playing cross-roles, which was interesting and more than a little kinky.

"My drink is empty. Let's go see the one that looks like New York, only tiny and neon."

"Yes, let's," Douglas says. He stands, and Martin stands, and Martin takes his arm and leans on his shoulder.

"Broad shoulders," Martin murmurs.

Hell.

This is how his last divorce started.

*

But in the morning, Douglas wakes up alone--well, alone in the same room as Arthur, which was a very loose definition of alone--and Martin is peacefully unmolested in his own room. Douglas knows better than to--well, than to do lots of things.

He takes it as well-earned flattery.

He reflects on the fact that Arthur whinnies in his sleep.

They have two more days in Las Vegas. But Douglas has pried the information he wanted out of Martin, so he doesn't need to get him drunk again. He's quite safe. And he can tease Martin mercilessly over that "shoulders" comment.

In the next bed, Arthur nickers and mumbles, "Oh, Rainbow Dash."

*

Douglas finds Martin lounging by the side of the highly suspicious-looking pool. "Bit warm for long trousers, isn't it?" he remarks. Douglas has taken the opportunity to air his limbs in bermuda shorts and a gauzy cotton shirt. Martin, meanwhile, is in jeans and thong sandals and an ancient T-shirt.

"Well, you remember how last time you asked me, I hadn't shaved my legs in three months? I haven't shaved since then," Martin says.

"Well, let it fly! People will think you're a dom."

Martin snorts. "Douglas, nobody has EVER looked at me and thought I was a dom. I could wear a crew cut and a sign saying 'TOPS UP, SLUTS DOWN' and people would just think I was kinky. The best I can manage is 'ugly sub.'"

You're not ugly, Douglas doesn't say. His lifelong flirting instinct is going to get him in trouble.

"And... I'm sorry for being a bit floppy last night. That drink hit me harder than I thought," Martin says.

"Yes, it was meant to. I wanted to pry some information out of you."

"Douglas!"

"Five pounds, really?"

"God." Martin draws his knees up to his chest. "Yes, really. I wanted the job!"

"Is that legal?"

"I don't care. I'm flying, and I'm Captain, and that's all I want, and I got it."

"So you wait tables to make ends meet."

"And temp, and babysit the kids next door, and even clean houses sometimes. I get by. Sometimes my sister hires me to help with her electrician business. She inherited the family business when dad died."

"Oh," Douglas says. "Forgive me if I can't picture you with children."

"Gay couple, both subs. Very liberal. They like showing me off for my gender nonconformity. I like kids fine," Martin says.

Douglas stands. "What do you think of that pool?"

"I think I saw something swimming. Something with legs."

"Well, I'll just have to sunbathe, then." He takes off his shirt and Martin squawks.

"You're English, Douglas! Put it away before someone goes blind!"

"Like a Greek god," Douglas says, flexing. Martin laughs until he hiccups.

*

He calls Helena that afternoon because he knows what's good for him. "My darling,” he rumbles.

"My master," she purrs.

"Missing you."

"You're surrounded by tan American tarts, aren't you?"

"Mm. Ugly American poker players, I'm afraid. Old doms in loud suits."

"Douglas, you only call me overseas when you've seen some pretty sub and need a reminder of our marriage contract," Helena says. "I'm not stupid."

He's struck dumb. He didn't know she'd noticed that.

"I was thinking, actually, we should revise our contract to open play. You're gone so often, you have needs..."

"I'm fine," Douglas says.

"I want you to be happy, Master."

"I am."

She makes a small sound of less than agreement. "So what's the latest disaster on board?"

"Oh, well..." He could tell her about Martin's revelation, but that seems... "I took Martin to a ghastly bar last night--"

"Martin the sub?"

"Helena! He doesn't even shave his legs."

She laughs. "I have to ask, darling."

"Well, there were actors there, playing Atia and Cleopatra for the punters. Martin got drunk and thought Atia was hitting on him. He gave it serious thought before he decided she was just too old-fashioned for him."

Helena laughs again. Douglas settles back into the pillows. "And you?" he asks.

"I had a look around for new drapes for the bedroom..."

"Red," Douglas says. "For passion."

She purrs at him. He smiles.

*

On the way home they play "Least Suitable Directors." Martin starts strong with "John Woo's Sense and Sensibility," but Douglas ripostes with "Merchant and Ivory present: Transformers 4: Robots Being Kicked In the Balls and Then Farting," which Martin protests leans too heavily on the unlikely subtitle. Douglas rejoins that given the arse joke inherent in "Dark Side of the Moon," it's sure to come, at which point Martin asks why he knows so much about robot movies anyway.

"Steven Spielberg's Waiting for Godot," Douglas says.

"David Lynch's Cat in the Hat."

"I might see that, actually," Douglas muses.

"Yes, come to think of it, make it the Lorax and I'm in too."

Arthur pokes his head through the flight deck door. "Chaps? What does unsubjugated mean?"

"It means that even though a top can spank me in the bedroom, he can't necessarily spank me in life. It means I can have my own car, and credit card, and apartment, and vote, all that, without some top having to speak for me. It means I have my own brain and my own agency and life and I don't need to hang off some top like a child," Martin says.

"Oh. All that?"

"Unless you want a five-hour lecture on subjugation theory, which I *can* give, that'll do."

"That doesn't make any sense," Arthur says.

"What, a sub necessarily needs a top to be complete? Subs don't have the ability to think for themselves? What doesn't make sense?" Martin spits out.

Douglas clears his throat. "Arthur? What are you reading?"

"This." Arthur thrusts a magazine in front of his face.

Douglas reads the sentence. "Arthur...this says 'unassociated'. Unassociated trade groups."

"Does it? I thought it was S-S pronounced juh."

"S-S is never pronounced juh," Martin says, disbelief heavy in his voice.

"Sure it is! Like in 'adjust'! A-S-S-O-R-T!"

"That is not how you spell adjust!"

"Yes it is!"

"No it isn't!"

"Well, how do you spell adjust then?"

"Like it sounds!"

"Well, you have your ears, and I have my ears, and we will just have to agree to disagree," Arthur says with poise and dignity. He leaves.

Martin looks at Douglas. "Did that just happen, or was I hallucinating?" he asks.

"Folie a deux, if you were," Douglas says.

"I knew it. I'll wake up and it turns out I've been in coma for the past year."

"Fair enough. I am a dream man."

Martin laughs.

"David Cronenberg's Fiddler on the Roof."

"Oh, God," Martin says. "Tevye would literally be a milkman. With udders."

They both shudder.

*

It's a comfortable equilibrium. They go on like that for about a year. Co-workers. Maybe even friends.

*

"I'm leaving you for Sarah," Helena says. Just as bluntly as that.

Douglas...did not see this coming. "And who the hell is Sarah?"

"I met her at tai chi, but it hardly matters. She's honest with me. She doesn't mess about. She doesn't charm me, Douglas, I am so tired of being charmed!"

"What?"

He doesn't know what that means.

*

He still doesn't know what the hell that means.

*

What does that even mean? People like being charmed, that's why it's charming.

*

He's still wondering as he walks the aisles of Tesco, shopping for his brand new bachelor pad. He doesn't notice Martin until Martin taps him on the shoulder. "Oh," Douglas says. "Hello, Martin. How are--" He glances down. "You're wearing a skirt."

"I can do that. I'm a sub, I'm allowed."

"Legs shaved, even. My word."

"Waxed. I had a cleaning job at a salon and some of the staff took pity. They even did my arms, isn't it nice?" Martin strokes his bare forearm. He glances up at Douglas. "Are you all right? You're not making fun of me."

"Fine. Perfectly fine."

"Liar."

"Helena left me."

"Oh. I'm sorry. I wondered why you had so many groceries."

"Yes. And I have to remember how to cook for one. It's been a while."

"I'm free, if you want company," Martin says.

"Rather. Are you fonder of fish or steak?"

"I haven't had steak since my sister's wedding."

"That settles that, then. Get us some tonic water, would you? I don't want to have wine in the house."

Martin touches his shoulder before searching out the tonic. It makes Douglas feel a little lighter.

*

"Mm," Martin groans. "You won't be single long, cooking like this."

"I think I will be single for a while and see how it takes me. I went straight from Francesca to Helena without any space in between. I still have to work out where it all went wrong."

"She didn't tell you?"

"She told me. Not that it...look, it's complicated," Douglas says.

"Meaning you don't want to go into it right now, or you don't understand?"

"She said she was tired of being charmed. Which is nonsense."

"It's not nonsense," Martin says, his voice soft. "It's a front. Charm is a mask to disguise the person beneath."

Douglas sniffs. "Thank you, Dr. Crieff. Your spot on Loose Women is already reserved."

"You're not like that with me. Sarcastic, witty, but never turning on the fake smile and trying to make me like you, and that's why I actually know if you do like me. Anyway--" Martin looks down and picks up his glass, swirling the water around a few times. "I'll tell you some time about my charming former boyfriend."

"Oh, tell me now. If I'm to be stripped naked, so are you."

Martin's mouth twists. "He would smile me into doing the things that he liked and I didn't. The last straw was when he tied me to the bed, which was all right, but then he left the flat completely, and I couldn't get untied. It was just one room, not a great neighborhood, and he left the door unlocked. Closed but unlocked. I spent the next half hour convinced some burglar was going to come in and rape me." His throat works.

"That's unconscionable." That kind of behavior goes against all rules of decency. One never left a sub alone and vulnerable; if it was your particular interest, that sort of game, you jolly well asked first.

Martin shivers. "Stayed with me, that one. Nothing happened, but the fear...when he came back, I made him untie me, and I threw up. I told him to leave or I'd call the police on him," he says. He's still not looking up at Douglas. Douglas stands without thinking and crosses to the side of the table to take Martin's hand.

"You're safe," Douglas says.

Martin smiles, a little weakly, and leans his head into Douglas's stomach. "I know," he says. Then he slips out of the chair and onto his knees. Douglas still holds his hand. "I'm always safe with you."

He strokes a thumb down Martin's cheek. No makeup. He's not used to that. Martin didn't even put lipstick on for him, as he did for Mr. Birling. But Martin leans into his body without a hint of reticence and his skin is soft and warm. "Martin," Douglas murmurs.

Martin sighs into his stomach. "Probably not a good idea. You're on the rebound. You want to be single."

"Yes, probably a terrible idea. You'll wake up the morning, have second thoughts, and go straight to Carolyn." He feels Martin's heat radiating through his trousers. He sees the trust and relaxation in Martin's pose.

"For heaven's sake. I like sex, I just don't get very much of it." Martin looks up at him. He strokes his free hand up Douglas's calf. "I took my knickers off when I arrived."

Douglas raises an eyebrow.

"In case it went this way, so you wouldn't see how old and grey they were. They're in your loo bin under the toilet roll." He's still stroking Douglas's calf.

"I need to buy a new collar. I'm sure you don't want Helena's," Douglas says.

"No! I don't want your collar. I don't want anyone's collar. I don't even want your bracelet. Just some sex so we can both end the day better than it started."

"Oh, God help me." Douglas pulls Martin to his feet and embraces him with a firm grip on his pert arse. "When a pretty sub kneels at your feet and says 'sex' that many times it's really quite impossible to say no."

Martin snickers and kisses his chin. "Who was the pretty sub?"

"You're just fishing for compliments now." Douglas walks him backwards toward the bedroom.

*

Douglas shuts the door behind them. "How far did this wax job go?" he asks.

Martin pulls the dress over his head from the back of his neck, leaving him entirely nude but for his Converse trainers and odd socks. "All the way," he says.

He's skinny, but Douglas knew that. His lean muscles give his body inviting curves. The lack of hair makes him gleam in the soft bedroom lighting. "How long did that take?" Douglas asks.

"Ages and ages." Martin's cock stirs under Douglas's gaze, and Martin shifts his hip to push it forward. "How do you want me?"

"Well, you know what an old-fashioned sort I am..."

Martin drops to his knees and crawls over to him. "Oh, certainly. The classics are classic for a reason," he says. He kneels over Douglas's feet, nearly sitting on his shoes, thighs to either side of his ankles. "And you're wearing nice trousers. Nothing worse than scratchy trousers when you're down here," he says, and he rubs his cheek against Douglas's thigh.

Douglas touches Martin's mouth and Martin opens to suck on his finger. He's eager, enthusiastic. It's pleasing. Douglas gives him another finger and Martin looks up at him, a smile dancing around his eyes.

He leads Martin's mouth to his groin and Martin hums happily. Martin unzips him, leaning into his body, back arched so that he can reach. He takes Douglas's cock in his mouth. "Lovely," Douglas murmurs. "Keep that up. Give me your hands."

He likes Martin's hands, unexpectedly. They're strong and rough. He hasn't had a manicure in a dog's age, clearly, and that should turn Douglas off, but it's all part and parcel of the man, like the Converse trainers he's still wearing.

He leans against the door, and Martin leans against him, managing to lick his cock despite the angle. He strokes Martin's palms with his fingertips, then takes his wrists, and Martin sighs and nuzzles into his abdomen.

"I'm yours tonight," Martin says. The more traditional statement was "I'm yours, _master_ ," but trust Martin to include the caveat.

Douglas kisses his palm. "Up onto the bed, then, and let me get a better look at you."

Martin stands and bounces backwards into the bed with a few light strides. "God, I still have my shoes on," he giggles. His cock is erect and bouncing with the rest of him. He looks thoroughly happy.

"I'll take care of that." Douglas follows him and Martin places his foot into his hands. Douglas unlaces him, strips off the shoe and sock, and Martin points his toe and pokes Douglas in the chest. "Now the other," Douglas says. Martin rolls over and shoots Douglas a coquettish look over his shoulder as he raises his other foot at the knee, showing off his arse and the strong muscles of his thigh.

The little flirt. Douglas ignores the shoe and climbs onto the bed between Martin's legs, making Martin laugh. He nips at Martins back. "Tiger!" Martin exclaims. He sounds a little breathless. Douglas growls and bites at his shoulder, not hard enough to leave a mark.

"We should negotiate terms," Douglas says into Martins ear. he snakes his hand under Martin's chest and plays with his nipple.

"Oh, god. Uh. No bonds no toys no penetration and keep doing that!"

"Agreed on all counts." Douglas pinches Martin's nipple sharply and enjoys the sound Martin makes.

Douglas still has his clothes on. He likes the muffled feeling of Martin's body against his, contrasting with the warm skin under his hands and mouth and naked cock. He slides off Martin and crawls up to the padded headboard, where he pats his lap. "Up here, my boy."

Martin slides up on his belly. One shoe off, one shoe on. He dips his head toward Douglas's cock but Douglas nudges him off. Not just now.

"Face up, in my lap, so I can touch you without breaking a wrist," Douglas says. Martin smiles and obeys. His head falls back naturally onto Douglas's shoulder and he fits very nicely between Douglas's thighs.

Douglas starts with his nipples, for the delightful squeaky noises Martin makes. Martin slides his fingertips under Douglas's arse, a little bit of self-bondage that makes Douglas's cock pulse against his spine. Douglas kisses his lovely long neck.

"You're the pretty sub in the room, you idiot. This neck..." He nibbles, scratching his teeth gently along the delicate skin, and Martin shudders back into him.

He strokes his hand up Martin's chest and over his cheek to his forehead. He rubs his other hand over Martin's smooth belly. "They plucked you like a chicken, didn't they? You were a toy in their hands," Douglas says into Martin's ear. He touches the bald base of Martin's cock with the pad of his middle finger.

Martin sighs. "They were all subs, but really quite insistent that I needed polishing for summer. It's like they were psychic--oh, god, I feel double naked, I can feel everything--" he breaks off into a groan as Douglas takes his cock in hand.

Martin seems to melt like chocolate as Douglas strokes him. It's been quite some time since Douglas took another man's cock in his hand--since before his first marriage, come to think of it, when he was young and seeing what he liked in a sub--but Martin's body tells him he's doing just fine.

He returns his other hand to Martin's nipples and Martin gasps and shimmies in his grasp. He turns his head, nudges slightly, and there's Martin's mouth for him to kiss. He kisses deeply, tongue against tongue.

He switches hands when he feels like it, making Martin squeak again as Douglas rolls his other nipple between thumb and forefinger. Martin is close--does Douglas want him to come this way? He does, actually, and he brings his knees up so that he cradles Martin's hips between his thighs.

"Good job, excellent," he murmurs into Martin's ear. "You're coming just like this, because you're so very beautiful this way..." Martin arches his back against Douglas and comes over Douglas's hand.

Douglas folds his arms around Martin's middle while Martin catches his breath. "Chivalry?" Martin asks after a few long moments.

"Entirely selfish. I like you as putty in my hands," Douglas says, and he kisses Martin again.

And keeps kissing him, because it turns out he rather misses kissing, and Martin has a terribly kissable mouth. Martin shifts in his arms and nestles into his chest. His naked thigh presses deliciously into Douglas's cock. Douglas lets his hands roam over Martin's torso and arse.

Martin's breath catches as Douglas kneads his buttock a bit more firmly. "Yes, I could be persuaded," he gasps out.

"Martin. What kind of top do you take me for? I don't overstep bounds on the first date. Lie down."

Douglas undresses entirely before Martin's eyes. Martin is limp, spent, but his eyes travel over Douglas's body avidly. Douglas finds his massage oil in the drawer and applies it to his cock--Martin catching his lip between his teeth, watching--before returning to the bed.

"Now then," Douglas says. "How shall I finish the night? This feels rather nice..." He leans over Martin and rubs his cock on Martin's thigh. "But there's even softer skin to be found here..." He lets his erection slide up to Martin's belly. "Mm, very nice."

"Don't be silly," Martin says.

"Martin! For shame. Nothing your top does could ever be described as silly. Even if he's fucking your armpit."

"What?"

But Douglas is already rolling him onto his side and pressing his erection between Martin's arm and side. Martin curls up, laughing wildly, his face bright red, and Douglas thinks he hasn't had this much fun in bed in _years._

*

"I did rather wonder how old-fashioned you were, if you wanted me to call you master and all that," Martin says. He's curled into Douglas's chest, both of them covered by a sheet.

"No. Only if you want to. It's not the same if it's not spontaneous."

"And you're very, very spontaneous," Martin says. He giggles. Douglas combs his fingers through his hair. "I mean, where on earth did that come from?"

Douglas smiles at the ceiling. "You had one shoe on and one off."

"And whose fault was that?"

Douglas presses a kiss into Martin's hair. "I wondered if you were more of a switch," Douglas says.

"No. Giving orders is for the cockpit, not the bedroom."

"But did you ever consider declaring as a top? Were you eighteen, or was the age still fourteen when you declared?"

"I nearly did," Martin says. "I always knew I wanted to be a pilot, and all the pilots I ever saw were doms. I was nearly fourteen when the age changed, and I was actually going to declare as a top, but then I had four more years to think about it, and dated a little, and I realized it just wasn't true and I would have to do it the hard way. Thank God, though. I'd make a miserable top."

"I don't know. You give orders fairly well when the situation calls for it."

"Can you imagine me trying to be you? Plus Dad would have wanted me to follow him into the business, not my little sister. They just gave up on me, as it is. They figured I was setting myself up as the sad, disappointed maiden uncle and left me to it, which is probably the best thing that could have happened. No pressure. I'm not good under pressure," Martin sighs.

"Excellent quality for an *airline captain*."

"Shut up." Martin bites his chest. "I'm fine with plane emergencies. I meant...you know when you're a kid, and you play at being a dom or a sub, playing house and all that... I was rubbish at football, I was rubbish at asking other kids if they liked me, I was rubbish at playing cops and robbers with sticks, all that. It was much better when the other kid told me what to do and I decided if I wanted to do it or not, and that's called being a sub."

"A thoroughly unsubjugated sub. That should be a song, don't you think?" Douglas hums a few bars. "My baby tells me where to get off, oh, you won't see him taking no guff..."

Martin giggles. "I had this top at my last job, at Air Scotia--"

"Good God, don't tell me you worked with Captain Duff!"

"I did, and I have the bruises to prove it. Or, I mean, I did. Obviously they've faded now, he wasn't actually beating me. But it was a rubbish job, but I was actually flying, you know? And I met someone, one of the mechanics, and he offered me a collar. I was going to say no anyway because we hadn't been together even a year, but then he said--I will never forget this--he couldn't wait to have more time together. And I asked him why, because we had already moved in together, and he said obviously I would cut down my hours once he'd collared me, because he would take care of me."

"Idiot," Douglas says.

"Thank you, Douglas," Martin says. His voice is oddly soft. He's genuinely surprised. "Yes, that's what I said. I worked and slaved and revised until I was cross-eyed to get into the air, why would I ever, ever give that up? And he said--well, I'm not sure, but it ended when I threw his collar at him, and then I moved out the next day. And lost that job a month later when they had layoffs. I went back to cleaning houses and found this job next."

"What a stupid man," Douglas says.

"Yes, well. That's enough of my terrible exes for one night." Martin sits up. "It isn't even 1900 yet." He bends over Douglas, sticking his arse in the air. "Will you show me paradise once more, my master?" he breathes. He's quoting a terrible American Robin Hood movie they watched in the room together last layover.

He combs his hand through Martin's hair. "How could I deny you the glories of the Richardson corpus?"

Martin pulls back. "The what?"

"Body." Douglas barely refrains from rolling his eyes.

"Oh. For a moment I thought we were going somewhere else entirely." 

Martin straightens up onto his knees. Douglas strokes his inner thigh, since it's so tidily to hand. "Mm," Martin hums, half closing his eyes. "Penetration still off the table. We have to fly tomorrow."

"Quite all right. Go ahead and touch yourself, I can see you want to."

Martin slides his hands over his stomach and onto his cock. He bites his lip. His eyes are still half closed. "On your back," Douglas says. Martin shifts a little awkwardly back down beside him. He raises his arms over his head and looks at Douglas.

"Grab the pillow," Douglas says. Martin obeys with both hands. "Now then," Douglas continues. "It's been some time since I tackled this particular...tackle." He nudges Martin's swelling erection with his nose. "But you seem well versed, so why don't you give me some direction?"

"Douglas!" Martin jerks his head up. "I can't do that!"

"Can't you? Seems reasonable to me."

"You pervert! I'm not a switch!"

"And switches are perverts?" Douglas raises an eyebrow.

"I mean--you know what I mean!"

"I really don't."

"Oh, God, I can't top _you_! I'll laugh!"

"I like it when you laugh." Douglas kisses Martin's belly. Martin still has hold of the pillow, though it's twisted in his hands. "If you want to get off again, you'll have to tell me what to do."

"You're not supposed to get kinky on the first date," Martin grumbles.

"And if this were our first date, you might have a point, but we've been flirting for months, my dear." Douglas kisses up his rib cage and licks a convenient nipple. He's resting on his elbow, his other hand roaming over Martin's silken skin. He kisses Martin's chest, then kisses back up to his irresistible neck.

"It's improper," Martin says, but he sounds a little breathless now.

"It certainly is." Douglas kisses his mouth.

He leans his weight on Martin, still kissing him, and strokes Martin's side down to his arse and up to his shoulder. He rubs his cock on Martin's thigh but leaves Martin's cock untouched.

"I think I'd like a practical demonstration," Douglas tells him. "Come on." He invites Martin to move and Martin scrambles down the bed and sucks him in. He's lying on his side, with Martin curled around his hips.

Martin's mouth, oh, it's delicious. He flexes his fingers in Martin's hair and Martin hums happily around his erection. "Yes, very good," Douglas murmurs. "Lovely, Martin, lovely."

Martin clings to his legs and bobs his head steadily. He certainly seems to enjoy his work. It feels...heavenly.

"Martin, Martin, Martin, you delightful creature--off, now," and Martin lets go, and Douglas finishes himself off between them.

Martin embraces him again and strokes his sweaty haunches. He nuzzles his face into Douglas's stomach. "Ready to give a few orders?" Douglas asks.

"No," Martin says.

"No?"

"No."

Douglas snorts and strokes his hair. "Contrary minx."

"Well, you knew that."

*

Douglas wakes up to the smell of fresh, hot tea and the feel of Martin kissing across his chest. He reaches up and strokes Martin's arm. "Good morning."

"Good morning. Tea with sugar and cream, and I cleaned up last night's dishes," Martin says. "Hong Kong today. Long day."

Douglas sits up and Martin curls into his side. He hasn't been awakened Iike this since he as a newlywed. It makes him wonder just how long his marriage was souring before he noticed...well, he didn't notice, did he? Helena blindsided him. "Shall I drive you in, or would you rather keep our dalliance a secret?" Douglas asks.

"Oh, drive me in. Carolyn will know as soon as she sees me anyway."

"Rather. The frown lines are gone from your forehead." Douglas touches his brow, then swoops down and kisses him. Martin melts into his side.

He takes Martin by his flat first to get his uniform. "Did you leave your knickers in my bin?" Douglas asks at a red light.

"Yes."

"Saucy."

"Prideful. I would have worn my new ones if I knew anyone was going to see them."

"I meant, saucy you, sitting in my car with no underthings on." Douglas reaches over and slides his fingertips up Martin's thigh.

Martin slaps his hand. "Eyes on the road! And don't you dare try that in the cockpit."

Douglas catches Martin's hand in turn and kisses the palm.

Martin's share house is a sad-looking place, but Douglas follows him up three flights of stairs anyway for the pleasure of watching him dress. One never grows bored of the sight of the hem of a dress rising over bare skin.

One quickly grows bored with the donning of an ugly polyester uniform, though. Douglas pokes through Martin's small wardrobe. "Pack something nice," he says. "I'm taking you out to dinner in Hong Kong."

"We only have twelve hours in Hong Kong and I want to spend at least eight in bed. I don't think we have time for a nice dinner."

"Martin, for shame. There's always time for a nice dinner."

"You don't even speak Chinese! How are you going to find an English-speaking restaurant, get us in, get us served, and back in time to have sex, which I assume is the subtext, and still get enough sleep to safely fly another fourteen hours?" Martin says.

"On the contrary," Douglas says in what, truthfully, is heavily accented and not very good Cantonese, but Martin doesn't know that.

"Oh, good god," Martin says. The look on his face is priceless.

"I think that sounds like exactly the kind of thing I can do."

"You arrogant sod," Martin says, but he's smiling.

Douglas's spirits remain high even through Carolyn spotting their post-coital glow. "If you so much as think of joining the mile high club, I will sense it with my brain and club you both on the spot," Carolyn says.

"Please, Carolyn, calm your ire. Was there ever a chance I'm not already a member?" 1979, a delightful stewardess named Denise. He thinks of her fondly.

"I'll help you club him," Martin says. "In the air, we're just pilots, not Romeo and Julio."

"Be very sure you keep it that way," Carolyn says. "I know I can't trust him not to skive off, but I like to think I can trust you."

"Of course," Martin says, standing very tall.

*

They land in Hong Kong around 11 am local time, so Douglas's dinner with Martin will actually be a lunch. "Leave your uniform on," Douglas tells Martin before they leave the flight deck. "It will stand up well to being torn off your body later."

"I don't think we should go to dinner," Martin says.

"Nonsense. We'll have a blast."

"I don't want to go to dinner," Martin says, looking away.

"Why on earth not? I'm paying, you don't have to worry about that."

"That's not it at all. I--" Martin breaks off as Carolyn thumps on the flight deck door. "I--we'd better go, then."

Martin opens the door and grabs his hat and flight bag. Douglas follows him. "Carolyn, give me additional reasons why Martin should let me take him to dinner."

"So that I don't have to feed him. He eats like a rugby player. I booked us two rooms, so I'll be sharing with Arthur and you lovebirds can have your own nest," she says. "Martin, check us in while I retrieve our cargo." She hands him a folder with the company credit card nestled in it.

"Certainly," Martin says. "I'm not going to dinner with Douglas, though, so I'll be there when you get back."

"Martin can sign for the company credit card? Why can't I?" Douglas demands.

Carolyn sighs. "Douglas, search your heart and find the answer. Martin, I don't give a damn, as long as you don't order anything from room service. In addition to being expensive, it will probably give you gangrene of the stomach. Arthur--where is Arthur?"

They look around. Then they look around some more.

They find Arthur wedged into an overhead compartment. "Hi chaps!" he says. "Boy, am I glad to see you!"

"Arthur, what--?" Carolyn sighs as Martin and Douglas pry him out.

"I used to play up here when I was a kid and wanted to see if I could still fit, and I can! I just couldn't get back out again."

"You absolute idiot! What if we hadn't looked?"

Martin takes Arthur's feet, and Douglas takes his head, and they lower Arthur to the floor gently. "Ooh, I'm all spinny," he says, smiling broadly. "And you did look! So everything is all right."

*

They check into the hotel before dinner and Douglas immediately blocks the door once Martin is in the room. Martin sits on the bed. "Why?" Douglas asks. 

"You stopped treating me like a pilot and started treating me like your sub," Martin says. "So this was a mistake, and I know how to deal with mistakes. I have a lot of practice."

"Nonsense."

"You haven't stopped talking about my body since last night." 

"It's a very nice body," Douglas retorts. 

"I told you over and over, not in the flight deck! And you didn't listen! And telling me to get pretty so you can take me out as if I didn't do half the work of getting us here! More than half, since I did the calculations!"

"That's absurd." 

"It's not! It's absolutely not! And I thought--" Martin exhales and looks down. "After I--tarted myself up for Mr. Birling--it was so shaming, but you treated me normally, and made me feel better. That's why I thought we could do this and stay friends. But we can't. I'm sorry I came on to you. I know it's my fault. And so it's my responsibility to draw the line and end it." 

"That is the biggest load of _tosh_ \--" Douglas starts. He can't believe this. 

Martin flinches away. "If you're just going to belittle me, I want to leave the room."

"Martin, please." 

"You haven't taken a single word I've said seriously and I want to leave the room, please," Martin says, very low. 

Douglas stands out of the way. Martin leaves. 

There's only one bed. Douglas sits on it and exhales. 

Bloody subs. He'd really thought Martin would be _easy_ to deal with.

*

Douglas flips fretfully through the room service menu before he realizes he's lingering far too long on the drinks listing and he needs to call his brother. 

"Brother," Stephen answers. "Where are you?" 

"Hong Kong. Tell me you can talk for a minute." 

"Looking at the bottle?" 

"Decanted Chinese kerosene, more than likely." 

"Work trouble?" 

"Sub trouble." 

"You wanker. What did you do?" 

"I resent that," Douglas says. 

"You've been divorced thrice and all your ex-wives have been divorced once. You should go gay. It's much easier." 

"Don't gloat." 

"Here, I'll put Cheryl on the other extension. She's always been better with subs than I was. Cheryl! It's Douglas!" 

Stephen and his wife are both tops, which was scandalous in the seventies but has become far more accepted. Cheryl still complains of people assuming she's a sub, though that's lessened since she shaved her head.

"Douglas. Did you cock up with a girl again?" 

"Boy." 

"But you cocked up." 

"I behaved perfectly well!" Douglas protests. 

"What did he say you did?" 

Douglas sighs. "He's my copilot--" 

"Ouch," Stephen says. 

"He said that I stopped treating him like a pilot and started treating him like a sub. I've always treated him like a sub! He is a sub!" 

"You fondled his arse during a flight, didn't you?" Cheryl says. 

"No!" But that's not true, he realizes as he says it. He did stroke Martin's back down below his belt as Martin got up to use the toilet. Damn it. "Well," he says. 

"And you called him sweetie or ducky or little boy or something like that." 

"I can truthfully say I did not." 

"You definitely treated him differently, though. You always treat them differently. You made Rachel quit her job." 

"I never!" 

"You brought her back late from lunch all the time, brother," Stephen says. 

"She liked that," Douglas says. 

"She mentioned it all the time," Cheryl says. "She never said she hated it, but it bothered her." 

"How was I meant to know that?" 

"That's what I said," Cheryl says. "That she should tell you. And this one did tell you. Make up with him, I like him now." 

Douglas sighs. 

"Apologize," Stephen says. "You never apologize." 

Douglas shakes his head. Apologize for what? Being a gentleman? "We had one bloody night together. This isn't a relationship." 

"How long have you been flying together? A year?" Cheryl asks. 

"He can't be very subby if he's a pilot," Stephen muses. 

"That's probably why he told Douglas where to go," Cheryl says. 

"Oh, yeah, definitely," Stephen says. 

"Am I a necessary part of this conversation?" Douglas asks. 

"Are you going to drink?" Stephen asks. 

"No." 

"Then you're optional." 

"Enjoy yourself discussing me behind my back," Douglas says acidly. 

"I was just thinking we might have sex," Cheryl says. "Stephen can be the naughty subby boy and I can be the stern toppy professor." 

Douglas lets this horrifying image pass. "Goodnight." 

"Goodnight. Don't drink," Stephen says. 

"I won't. I'll be occupied washing that image out of my mind." 

"I won't. I'll be washing my naughty little arse," Stephen says. 

"Good God," Douglas says, and he releases the line. 

*

Martin returns to the room smelling of soy sauce. "I brought you dinner," he says, edging a takeout container onto the room's desk. 

"Thank you," Douglas says. "I divided the bedding so we each have half the bed." 

"Thank you." Martin glances from the bed, where Douglas is lounging, to the desk, where Douglas's dinner is; Douglas relieves his quandary by standing and crossing to the desk. 

Dinner doesn't smell awful. He's actually rather hungry once he sits down to it. Martin, behind him, shrugs out of his jacket slowly. 

"I'm not actually," Martin says incompletely. 

Douglas eats his noodles. 

"The problem was never physical. We could still." 

Douglas looks over his shoulder. Martin blushes and ducks away. 

"No, we couldn't sleep under the same blankets, that's quite. No."

"I realize I'm irresistible," Douglas says.

Martin flushes brighter and straightens up. "No, actually, you're entirely possible to resist! I was just saying that I'm not afraid to sleep in a bed with you, because I'm not some shrinking fearful sub! I'm entirely in control of my, my, my sexual body and I'll thump you if you try anything!" 

"Good for me I wasn't going to try anything, then," Douglas says. He turns back to his noodles. 

"God," Martin mutters. Douglas hears clothy thumps from his direction that signify Martin undressing. He'd like to watch. He refrains. 

Martin is curled in bed on his side when Douglas finishes dinner. Douglas unbuttons his shirt. Martin closes his eyes promptly. 

Douglas undresses fully and climbs into his half of the bed. Martin's side is warm and alive. He would like to roll over and embrace him, but he doesn't. 

*

Douglas wakes up with Martin snuggled into the curve of his back. He gets up, uses the toilet, finds his book, and returns to bed, where Martin nuzzles into his warmth again. Martin's hand rests on Douglas's shoulder. Douglas reads, his book tipped sideways, and waits for Martin to awaken.

Martin stirs awake with a huff of air against the back of Douglas's neck. Martin pauses, still pressed tightly to Douglas, then rolls onto his back. 

"Good morning," Douglas says. 

"Good morning," Martin mumbles. "What time is it?" 

"Six." 

"Oh." 

"Did I frighten you, last night?" Douglas asks. 

"No!" Martin sits up, rolls out of bed. "Do you want first shower, or do you want to loll about?" 

Douglas stretches luxuriously. "Do I really need to answer?" 

"Of course not." Martin rolls his eyes and retreats to the shower. He emerges ten minutes later scrubbed pink, wrapped in a towel. "I wasn't scared, but you put me on edge," Martin says. "You weren't listening to me." He tugs his sensible boxer-briefs up under the towel. A return to modesty. The end of the affair. 

"I was listening. You were talking a load of rubbish. But if you don't desire me, I won't press the issue."

Martin glances at him. "It wasn't rubbish. You're back to normal now." 

Is he? Isn't he acting the same as always? "And yet I woke up with you pressed to my body." 

"You don't understand at all. I'm a pilot, not your sub, not your little wife, and I won't sit on your knee and tell you how amazing you are for doing something I do as well! We're equal or we're nothing." 

"Our inequality has nothing to do with our respective genders," Douglas says. 

"You're so obtuse," Martin mutters half under his breath. He yanks his trousers up and dons his shirt briskly. 

"At least admit that the sex was good."

"Brilliant," Martin says. He wraps his tie around his neck and knots it. "But if I have to choose between being a pilot and having a sex life, I've already chose to be a flying nun." His face drops. "No, wait--!" 

But it's too late. Douglas is already gone in gales of laughter. Beside him, Martin mutters, "Lord," and begins to snicker, his hand over his face. 

*

It's all right for a while, a new equilibrium. Martin's body hair grows back. He experiments with sideburns until Carolyn orders him to shave. He picks up a landscaping job and goes brown as a nut. He gets the single room and Douglas is back sharing with Arthur and his neighs. 

But then...Douglas is sitting in the plane, watching Martin being hit on by a handsome female top, a pilot, blond, _young_. Repellent. But Martin is smiling at her. 

She asks him to Duxford Air Museum and he says yes. 

*

He doesn't know why he's so angry. It's not like Martin is even his type. 

*

"How are things with your Scottish lass?" Douglas asks. 

"All right. She is older than me, though. Hardly a girl." 

"Of course. Dating a top younger than yourself would be unseemly." 

"No! A top doesn't need to be older to be a top!"

"So you like younger tops? Martin the cougar."

"That term is utterly revolting. I'm not old enough to be a cougar anyway."

"Speaking of, have you done any double-dating with Carolyn and Herc? I'm not sure how many years she has on him, but it must be more than five; in fact, she's sixty-three, and I believe he's only a few years older than I am, so my goodness." 

"I am not taking my boss on a date," Martin says. "No, our dates have been blissfully solo. But I'm going up to meet her friends this weekend."

"Serious, then."

"Maybe." Martin shifts a bit and won't look at him. 

A suspicion sneaks through Douglas's mind. He recalls Martin's other objective, to put in for a job at Air Caledonian. "Are you sure you're off to meet her friends? Are you sure you're not, in fact, applying for a job?"

"No! No, no, I would never! Don't tell Carolyn!"

"Don't tell Carolyn you're meeting your paramour's friends?"

"Don't tell Carolyn anything!"

"Hmm. Not a promise I can make, I'm afraid." 

"Oh, god, she'll cut my pay." 

"She will, at the very least, want to know when to put her seatbelt on for landing. And cut your pay to what, one pound a day?" 

"She might." 

"I won't tell her of your attempt to make a decent living. I'm glad for you." 

Martin shoots him a quick, agitated glance. "You are?"

"You're better than at least a few of my previous copilots. You should advance."

"Oh. Thank you, Douglas."

*

On Saturday, Douglas does wonder a few times if he's going to have to break in a new pilot--and he had damned well better be Captain this time. Enough of this nonsense. 

In the early evening his phone rings. It's Martin. "So, are you stabbing us in the back after all?" 

"No. And please--" Martin's voice breaks. He takes an audible, shaky breath, and continues. "I need a ride home. Please. I don't have enough money for the train and Linda--isn't going to." 

"Yes, of course," Douglas says. He can't say no to a weeping sub. He doesn't want to know a top who can. "Where are you?" 

"Edinburgh."

"I'll buy your ticket. Hand me over to the agent."

"Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you, you don't even know how awful this day has been." He starts sobbing again as he hands the phone over and Douglas finds his wallet. 

The next time he sees Linda, he's going to pound her into a mushy red paste.

*

Douglas meets Martin at the station. Martin clearly isn't expecting it, as he's sitting at the bus stop. "Tell me everything," Douglas says. 

Martin is wearing half a business suit, with the jacket and tie folded into the top of his messenger bag. A pair of flat red sandals are slid in beside the jacket, which Douglas suspects are matched to a fetching red and white party dress Douglas spotted in his long-ago rifle through Martin's wardrobe. 

Martin gets into the car and hugs his bag to his chest. His face is red and puffy, nearly bruised from crying. His cuffs are soaked through. Douglas hands him a handkerchief. "Thank you," Martin says. 

He sounds awful. He sounds defeated. "We're going home. You should get some dinner in you," Douglas says. 

They're halfway to his house before Martin says another word. "I'm still not sure if the job interview was real," Martin says. 

"Why? What did she do to you?"

"It...we flew in a Caledonian plane in the crew seats, because it wasn't full, and the whole flight, the flight attendants kept giving me these looks. Of course they were all subs and they all looked perfect in their uniforms and they were flirty with Linda so--" He shakes his head. "Halfway there I wished so badly I had worn a skirt suit, something a little more--"

"I've never seen you in a skirt suit. Frankly, I can't imagine."

"I don't have one. This is a dom's suit, top to bottom. I felt confident at home but they just made me feel...and then I walked into the office and assumed I was meeting Linda's father and of course I wasn't, and he laughed at me. The interview was a complete disaster after that. I don't think it lasted fifteen minutes. On the way out, I bumped into the secretary and he spilled coffee down my jacket--it's probably ruined--but I went to the lav to try to clean up..." Martin presses the cloth to his face. "I heard Linda talk about me to another pilot. Apparently the advantage to an ugly sub is we try so much harder in bed."

A burning lump leaps into Douglas's chest. "Martin, you're not ugly."

"I don't care if I'm ugly! But hearing her speak of me like that! It could have been my workplace. I thought we had something, I thought we connected, two pilots, but it's just--I'm so angry. I'm crying because I'm angry. I left straight away and walked to the train station but Linda was supposed to fly me home, so I didn't have any money."

"Does she know where you are?"

"She called. I turned my phone off. I didn't want to hear her excuses. She was talking to her friends and didn't mean it--but she said it." Martin's face crumples. "She said that about me!" 

"If I ever see her again, she's getting a taste of the Richardson right cross," Douglas promises. 

Martin sniffs wetly. "I feel like I should disagree, but that's actually cheering me up a bit."

*

Douglas fills Martin up with spaghetti, meatballs, and wine while Martin expounds on exactly how rubbish Linda was in bed. No good with a strap-on, apparently, and didn't care for oral sex. Douglas murmurs disparaging things and breaks up a bar of dark chocolate for dessert. 

"I shaved my legs for her," Martin says. He's staring at his phone. 

"Call her. Let her know you're alive."

"Was any of it real? Was that really what she was thinking the entire time?"

"I think it was real. Martin, I must admit, when I was married to my first wife, I said my share of similarly crude things to the fellows at work. It's how those places are. I regretted it, once I was a little older and wiser, but it was never because I didn't love her; I was merely subservient to the mood of the group. Some things even I can't top." 

Martin looks up at him. The wine has left him tilted at a forty-five degree angle on the cushions. "You think I should make up with her?"

"No, not for a second. I think you should call her, so she can hear how upset you are, and you should break up with her so that she feels as awful as you do. But I don't think she was lying to you. I think she was genuine. I think she's going to be sorry to lose you." 

"Really?" Martin's eyes are wide. There's a spiderweb of red in the left where the blood vessels swelled. 

"Terribly sorry," Douglas says. 

Martin squints down at his phone. "The letters are very small."

Douglas finds her number and dials. Martin leans against his shoulder and he can hear a tinny whisper of Scottish from the receiver. "I'm home," Martin says. 

"No, you were an arse to me," Martin says. 

"I heard what you said! Ugly subs are the best in bed! You can't disrespect me like that!" Martin says. 

"I don't care if you meant it!" Martin says. 

"Because it doesn't matter. I'm breaking up," Martin says. He hangs up and turns off his phone. 

He rests his head on Douglas's shoulder. "We'll have to have another shout later, won't we?" he asks. 

"That's been my experience, yes."

Martin sighs. "I'm tired." 

Douglas helps him to the spare bedroom. 

*

Douglas wakes up to Martin sitting on his bed with a cup of coffee. "Good morning," Douglas says. "I'm surprised to see you up and about." 

"I'm always up early. I needed some aspirin and some water and then I couldn't get back to sleep. So, coffee. Thank you," Martin says. He looks bruised and melancholy, but not as beaten as he was last night. "I'll pay you back for the ticket." 

"Nonsense. Maiden in distress." 

"I'm no maiden." Martin's mouth twists up into a near smile. "Can I get in?" 

"Certainly." 

Martin curls up beside him with one hand pillowing his head. "More of a lock-picker."

A lock-picker was a sub that couldn't be held down and always had one eye on the door and the other eye on your wallet. "Nonsense," Douglas says. 

Martin closes his eyes. "When my dad died, he gave Simon ten grand, gave Caitlin the electrician business, and gave me his gold bracelets. Telling me to find someone to look after me, because I didn't do a very good job of looking after myself. I still have them somewhere. Every time money gets tight, I think of selling them, but..." He shrugs. 

"A lock-picker would wear them. A lock-picker would always be looking." 

"It was better with you than with anyone else," Martin says, opening his eyes. 

One eye is still bloodshot from tears. There are fine lines around his eyes and mouth and two deep lines between his eyebrows. "You weren't happy," Douglas says. 

"I'm tired of being alone," Martin says, and his face crumples again. He curls up tighter on his side. 

Douglas slides over and holds him. "You're not. You called and I answered, remember." 

"You did. You did." And Martin uncurls and kisses him. 

His mouth is salty with tears. It's not the flavour of passion. Douglas holds him but doesn't pursue the kiss. "This isn't what you want," Douglas says. 

"God." Martin pushes away and rolls onto his back. "I'm sorry."

"I'd rather not have you as the fourth ex-Mrs Richardson. Mind you, a sprightly shag some day when you're feeling better would not be at all unwelcome." 

"Sprightly really isn't on the menu today. I'm sorry I'm such a mess. I should go home." 

"Stay and have a bath." 

"There's nothing to change into. I want to walk home. It's only a mile and it would clear my head. Thank you," Martin says. He manages a smile. "You're being far too nice. I'm really going to pay for this later."

"Oh, certainly," Douglas says. "It's always useful to have someone owe me a massive favour."

*

Martin looked all right by Monday, in time for their trip to St. Petersburg. 

*

Martin and Douglas sit in the canteen eating something Douglas was assured was food. Martin doesn't seem cast down by the substance, though; his eyes are bright, his tie undone, and he is positively animated by his success. "One engine! I've done it in the simulator, of course, but never in real life! Well, obviously. We can only break Gertie once. Poor old girl."

"It's one for your resume. Lord knows we'll need it. I only hope we make it home and don't need to learn Russian."

"We could buy a fur and mail ourselves home."

"No thanks. I'd rather hitch a ride to Hong Kong and begin a new life as a fixer for the Tong."

Martin giggles. Douglas looks around catches sight of a couple of Lufthansa pilots slouching near the coffee machine and scoping out Martin. "Don't look now, but you have some admirers," Douglas says. 

"What?" Martin looks. The pilots notice and start over. "No!"

"Yes. There's some grey on your lip."

Martin wipes his mouth. "What do they want?"

"Just a guess, mind, but they probably want to flirt with the pretty sub who can land a Lockheed-McDonnell 312 on one engine. It is a rather devastatingly attractive quality in a person. Oh, and I think I see Carolyn. Have fun." 

Martin blushes just in time for the Germans to arrive. 

*

Douglas, surprisingly, does manage to save the day, and they both fly out of Russia in a blaze of triumph. "So," Douglas says. "The German women."

Martin turns bright red.

"No! When did you have the time? And which one?"

"Um. Well. Both. They were actually a gay couple and well. They wrestled for who got to, uh, and who had to watch."

"Naughty boy!"

"Best rebound I've ever had," Martin mumbles. There's a sly smile playing about his lips. 

"I should say so!"

"It's not hard to find tops," Martin says. "Just hard to find the right tops." 

*

Later, after a flight to Tibet: 

Herc is sitting in the chair and Carolyn is leaning over him, fist in his hair, pulling his head back. "Ah, yes mistress, yes yes--" 

Martin and Douglas both retreat. Martin nearly slams the door but Douglas blocks it and closes it silently. "Oh my god," Martin whispers. 

"It appears Herc and Carolyn have found their inner switches." 

Martin covers his mouth. "Well, she topped me, so I can't say I'm surprised, but Herc!" 

"Yes. Herc. No, I need to scrub that image from my mind. I'm going to go try to listen to my daughter's favorite singer again. That always puts me in a blinding rage." 

"Bieber?" 

"Who else?" 

"Right, and I'm going to...I don't know. Bang my head against the wall." Martin dissolves into giggles. 

"Come back to mine. We'll both go blind together."

"Please, no Bieber," Martin says. 

"How do you feel about Barry White?" 

Martin cuts his eyes at him. 

*

Douglas means to put dinner on, he really does, but then Martin loosens his tie and--hellfire--leans against Douglas, trusting him to take his weight, and Douglas never had any defense against that move. He takes Martin's weight and kisses him. 

"So you don't mind the butch look," Martin breathes against his mouth. 

"Not at all. Only a fool would mistake you for a dom." 

Martin spreads his legs and goes nearly liquid against him. Douglas is holding him up with a kiss and embrace alone. 

"I can't carry you," Douglas says. 

"Quitter." 

"Don't dare me. I'll throw my back out and there will be no sex tonight." 

Martin sighs and retreats. His shirt is unbuttoned to the waist, exposing a teasing pink nipple. "All right," he says. "Chase me."

Martin runs toward the bedroom. Douglas follows at a dignified pace. 

When he reaches the bedroom, he's stripped to the waist and Martin is on his hands and knees on the bed, still mostly clothed. He drops down onto his elbows when he sees Douglas. "You tease," Douglas says. 

"I'm yours, Master, all yours, as long as you fuck me soon." 

Douglas grabs his hips. "Oh Hercules, Hercules--" 

"No!" Martin shrieks. He jumps away from Douglas's hands and rolls over onto his back. "Are you trying to get laid or not?" 

"Oh, just having a little fun." Douglas picks up his ankle and strips off his shoe and sock, but leaves the other foot. "There, just like the first time," Douglas says. Martin wiggles his toes in response.

He strips the uniform trousers and boxers down Martin's legs and over his one shoe. Martin stretches his arms over his head, which makes the ribs stand out on his chest and makes Douglas want badly to feed him. 

First, though, a light shag. Douglas sheds his trousers carelessly and inserts himself between Martin's lean and muscled legs. Very shapely, those legs. They feel marvelous folded against his hips. He takes Martin's wrists and presses him into the bed and kisses his willing mouth. "Call me master again," Douglas says. 

"Yes, my Master." 

"Again." 

"Please, my Master, I'm yours," Martin says. His voice is low and soft. 

"I can't believe no-one has claimed such a lovely creature," Douglas says. He kisses Martin again. He rubs their hips together, slowly. 

Martin arches against him. "No-one else calls me lovely when I'm still wearing a tie," he says. 

"Even lovelier. You don't need me, you want me." He thrusts faster. 

"Oh yes. Yes, I want you, badly..." Martin groans and writhes. Douglas still has him caught by the wrists and the hips, but Martin could throw him off if he wanted to, Douglas is sure. 

Is that the key to Martin's lack of a love life? Are other tops frightened by Martin's strength and self-sufficiency? "Other tops are idiots," Douglas says into Martin's mouth. 

"Mm." Martin kisses him back. Then they're speechless, but not quiet, rubbing against each other. 

Martin gasps silently. "Come on," Douglas says. "Let me see you, go ahead." 

"Mm," Martin says, and he comes, legs tight around Douglas's waist. His shoe presses sharply into Douglas's hip. 

"Go down and finish me," Douglas says. He shifts up on the bed. Martin scrambles down and holds Douglas's hips in his hands and sucks Douglas's cock for only a moment before Douglas finishes. 

Then silence, for a long moment, as they both catch their breath. Martin rubs a finger idly across his lips. 

"Chicken?" Douglas asks. "Or...sausage. I have sausage in the freezer." 

"I have all the sausage I need," Martin says. He looks up at Douglas and they both nearly hurt themselves giggling. 

*


End file.
